


Bite Hard

by dwarrowkings



Series: Serial Killer AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bloodplay, Dark fic, Gore, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Sociopathic character, This is very very dark, graphic depictions of death, psychopathic character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarrowkings/pseuds/dwarrowkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Your mom is going to be upset if you keep ruining your shirts,” Stiles remarks, nonchalantly, looking at Derek's body with cold eyes. He is already thinking of ways that he can get Scott out of this mess, starting with “It was self defense, officer” and finally lighting on the “I haven't seen him in a while officer, he was kind of a flake” and burying him like Derek had buried Laura.</em><br/>His hands are warm, so he guesses it's only right if his heart is cold.<em></em><br/>Sick and Twisted Scott and Stiles as Serial Killers who fuck a lot fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite Hard

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic discusses death and sex pretty heavily, often in the same room. If that's not what you're into, don't read it, please. If I've missed a warning, please let me know. I tried to get them all. If I've missed something grammatical, please let me know, because this is largely unbeta'd.  
> This was born of my intense desire for crazy!Stiles and also serial killer fics.  
> I could definitely not have written this without [ro](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr), [jak](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsvc/pseuds/mrsvc) or [katelynn](facetspera.tumblr.com) who let me bounce, cry, and yell ideas at them.  
> Also, Ro wrote parts of this, so she gets credit for that, as well as telling me what the timeline should be, and then being patient with me while I figured it out.  
> You guys are wonderful.  
> AU after Season 1, where Scott kills Peter instead of Derek.

Derek steps aside when Peter screams. The fire's out, but Peter's skin is still smoking. Scott's heartbeat quickens, the fight or flight response beginning to kick in again. He'll choose what he's always chosen.

Scott's claws slide easily through the charred skin of Peter's neck, his blood spraying Scott's face before he dies. Scott's fingers are covered in it and he's not sure if he is supposed to want to lick his hand clean or not. Probably not.

Scott feels different, but not the way he hoped. His stomach twists, but it's not in the revulsion he's been lead to expect.

Derek looks at him with indefinable emotion shining in his eyes, like Derek is secretly happy that Scott isn't human again, and Scott doesn't know what to make of that either.

Scott goes home, and takes a shower, thinking of the way that Stiles's eyes had shone when he looked at Scott's face.

When he gets out of the shower, he still smells of blood, and he's still hard.

Scott is as uncertain now as he was in the scant seconds he had before he struck the killing blow. As a consequence, he's a bit rougher with himself as he jerks off -- like he has to make up for that uncertainty.

Stiles would know what to do; he always knows what to do.

–

So, Scott has never missed his dad. His parents took him to dinner. Out like they never did because he was seven and still a little young to be in a nice restaurant. He still played in his mashed potatoes, which was fine at home, but not so good any where else.

“We both love you, Scott,” his mom had said first, and Scott was looking at his dad's face, round brown eyes and chubby cheeks evaluating every tick in his father's expressions. Scott's dad may love him, but he doesn't care if he leaves, is what his face is saying, and then his mom is saying, “and this isn't about you, baby, but Mommy and Daddy aren't gonna be married anymore.” What a stupid way to say it, he thinks.

“You're getting a divorce,” he says, still looking at his dad. His dad was wincing, and his mom was doing the martyr thing, so he figured it was his dad's fault.

His dad didn't want his mom anymore. His dad was wrong.

They get home, and Scott's dad sleeps on the couch and his bags are packed and some stuff is in boxes.

He's at work when Scott wakes up, and Scott goes to school and acts like everything's fine.

Stiles levels considering eyes in his direction when he doesn't want to chase him on the playground, but Scott says he's not feeling up to it, and Stiles believes him.

Scott's dad is packing boxes when he gets home from school. His mom isn't there, so it's just him and his dad, and his dad leaving.

Scott gets to the top of the stairs and slams his way into his room.

His dad knocks on his door on the way out, arms full of box, and he doesn't hear Scott follow him out. He's easy to unbalance, one shove on his back with all of Scott's weight and he stumbles forward, dropping the box, stuff flying everywhere as his dad fights for balance. His momentum is too much though.

Momentum is a good word, Scott thinks. Stiles taught it to him. It means the force something falls with. His dad is heavy, not big or anything, just heavier than Scott, and he was at the top of the stairs. He has a lot of momentum by the time he hits the bottom of the stairs.

His dad shouts once, and starts bleeding out his nose. He looks unconscious, but his eyes are going glassy. Scott sees his dad die from the top of the stairs, the blood spreading and darkening, seeping into the carpet.

Scott goes back to his room to do his homework, and turns on the TV really loud.

–

His mom comes home, and screams. “Scott!” she yells urgently, “Scott, baby are you okay?” she hurries up the stairs, and bursts into his room.

He just finished his math homework.

“What, mom?” He asks, because what is wrong?

“Have you seen your father?” She asks, voice weird and high.

“Last time I saw him, he was going down the stairs,” Scott says, thinking fondly of the way his father had tried and tried to stop his fall, but fell with a sickening thump anyway.

“Oh god,” she says, hugging him to her chest.

The cops come, and rule it an accident. He fell down the stairs.

It's the most fond memory Scott has of his father.

–

Stiles finds Scott kneeling in a growing pool of Derek's blood, eyes flashing red and blood smeared up his arms like he'd cut into Derek's body and then reached in. There's a smear of blood drying across his forehead, probably where he tried to wipe the sweat away from his eyes. But it makes Stiles think of Baptism, a blessing.

Stiles doesn't know how he's supposed to feel, but he's pretty sure relieved isn't it. Scott is looking at his hands like they've worked independently of his brain – which, could be true, given the circumstances – and he hasn't noticed that Stiles is there yet.

Probably because his senses are glutted with blood.

He should probably be hearing the way that Stiles's heartbeat is picking up though. Or that there's a second heartbeat here in the first place.

He's close enough to touch Scott before Scott shows outward signs of knowing Stiles is there. He looks lost and fragile, like a kicked puppy. Which, weird, considering he's covered in blood.

There are claw marks on his stomach, and Stiles starts freaking out about cleaning them and oh my god, Scott got Derek's blood in them and he's cycling through the diseases and pathogens that Scott could have, and the fact that he should probably go to a hospital before he realizes that Scott is a werewolf. Derek was a werewolf. First of all, they don't get diseases like that, and secondly, even if they did, Scott would heal. Which is an addendum to the first, but whatever.

He huffs out a laugh, and Scott looks more visibly calm.

“Your mom is going to be upset if you keep ruining your shirts,” Stiles remarks, nonchalantly, looking at Derek's body with cold eyes. He is already thinking of ways that he can get Scott out of this mess, starting with “It was self defense, officer” and finally lighting on the “I haven't seen him in a while officer, he was kind of a flake” and burying him like Derek had buried Laura.

His hands are warm, so he guesses it's only right if his heart is cold.

“Stiles,” Scott breathes out on a laugh. His smile is brilliant, and it makes something in Stiles whoosh.

If he knew what love felt like, he's pretty sure he'd love Scott. “Get over here,” Scott says, and Stiles is thinking about bitching about the blood, but Scott would be able to tell that he was lying. Stiles wouldn't try to hide it.

He steps closer, and Scott wraps his bloody hands around Stiles's thighs. The toes of his tennis shoes are edging into the pool of blood. It's still spreading, Derek must still be warm, and he can smell it now, the coppery tang. His own blood rises to meet it, and Scott chuckles at him. He's close enough to smell the rush of pheromones, the heady scent of Stiles's arousal, but he presses his nose into Stiles's crotch anyway, snuffling.

Scott moves his hands, and there are hand prints on the back of his thighs from Derek's blood. This is going to be hard to hide from his dad, but it won't be the first thing. Or the worst thing.

Scott is unbuttoning his jeans, and Stiles has to make sure this is happening. Scott's hand is on his dick, shoving his boxers and pants out of the way, and Stiles whimpers when he sees a smear of blood on his dick from Scott's hand.

Scott's mouth isn't unexpected, given the context, but it's surprising, because Scott and he have never done this before.

Stiles gasps, and slides his fingers into Scott's hair. His hand catches a little, tangling where the blood is congealing, tacky and weirdly slick. Scott nuzzles his head into Stiles's hand, pushing his mouth down around Stiles's dick and then he's pulling away.

He doesn't say anything, but Stiles can read the compliment in Scott's eyes. This won't be the last time Scott touches him, so he's not going to complain how it happens right now. Scott is grabbing Stiles's hands, tugging him down.

Stiles feels kind of awkward, because his dick is hanging out, but Scott's hard in his jeans, and that has to be more uncomfortable than he is. He slides to his knees in front of Scott, and Scott pulls him in for a kiss. Stiles didn't know what to make of it, because for all he wants Scott to devour him, this kiss is so gentle. It reminds him of feelings he doesn't know, but has witnessed. A mother brushing the fine hair on her baby's head. Dad's picking up sleepy children and carting them off to bed.

Scott is kissing him like he's precious, but Scott's mouth tastes like blood.

Stiles's hands are scrabbling at Scott's pants, trying to make this something he understands, and Scott lets him. He wraps his fingers around Scott's cock in his pants and squeezes. He turns the kiss dirty, chasing the blood and the adrenalin and Scott's hands aren't everywhere because that's physically impossible, but they feel like brands. Like he's leaving his mark all over Stiles's skin and he can feel it, even after Scott his moved his hands away.

It's after the kiss breaks that he realizes that Scott is sliding his hands in Derek's blood and smearing handfuls of it on Stiles's skin, up under his shirt, around his hips. His hand jerks on Scott's dick involuntarily. His breath is coming harsh and fast, blood alive and pushing through the cycle of his veins, waiting for the chance to burst free.

Scott yanks Stiles around, jarring his knees, and pulling him ass first into Scott's lap. Stiles can see Derek's body for the first time, propped up against the wall, a defeated slump of flesh.

He's so pale, and the bruises stand out starkly against his skin. Stiles can see parts where his body gave up trying to heal itself when Scott finally killed him. Flesh half knitted together and unraveling.

Scott's hand wraps around his dick, blood smearing the swollen flesh of it and Stiles chokes a little.

Derek's dead and Scott is giving him a hand job and Stiles feels open and greedy for all of it.

“C'mon,” Scott is saying into the sweat-slick skin of his neck, teeth scraping. “Just a little,” And Scott is maneuvering him, one handed (ha!) in his lap. Stiles had just kind of flopped there, but Scott is urging him higher than he was and his legs closer together and Stiles lets Scott play with his body like a marionette.

Scott's dick is nudging the backside of his balls, and Stiles thinks _oh_. Before he knows what's going on, Scott's fingers are in his mouth, still sticky with blood and his fingernails are half human, pressing into his tongue, holding Stiles's words in.

“Are you looking at him, Stiles?” Scott asks, like it's possible for Stiles to be looking everywhere else? “His skin was so fragile. It just opened up under my claws, splitting open and gushing red. He tried not to make any noise, to pretend it didn't hurt. But I know it hurt when my whole hand was in his stomach, claws splayed wide and pulling out his guts. Could hear his heart beat faster, panicking and pushing his life out of him quicker. It's funny isn't it? That his heart was pushing blood to his brain so he could think to survive, but it was also pushing the blood out of him faster so he'd die. A positive feedback loop for death.” Stiles moans around Scott's fingers, spit and blood sliding down his throat and chin. Scott's dick is pushing arrhythmically between his thighs and bumping his balls and Scott's hand on Stiles's dick is a steady contrast to that. All his attention focused on making Stiles come, his own pleasure pushed aside in favor. As if Stiles's orgasm is a prerequisite to his own.

"It was so easy," Scott says again, biting Stiles's shoulder, branding the words there to replay later. “He died so beautifully, guts spilling and spreading. At first I didn't realize he was dead because you came.” Stiles jerks in Scott's hand, and he knew his orgasm was coming, could feel it, but he didn't expect it to be like this. He feels heavy, and thrown across the room, but his body is in the same place, panting. All of his brain is shoved in the top of his head, and his thoughts stab sharp and quick, like they'll make more sense if he just thinks them again.

Scott moans, and keeps sliding his hand on Stiles's dick. It hurts and it feels good, and Stiles wishes he would quit and never stop all at once. He wants more of it. Scott's fingers slide down, through is pubic hair, fingernails scratching and Stiles squeezes his thighs together.

It almost feels as if Scott has split him open, playing with his insides the way he'd played with Derek's. It hurts a little to be so helpless in Scott's hands, to feel as if they're killing him, when the touch is so intimate. They haven't done anything like this before. It's like a flash fire, and Stiles wants to see if it catches before he makes any calls about the future.

Scott's hand drags slow around Stiles' cock and Stiles twitches, jerking like a marionette. Scott laughs as Stiles trembles, as he bites into his lip and stares across the flat pool of dark, dark red into Derek's pale face.

"Do you like it?" Scott asks. "How his face is still angry, even as he's going cold?" Scott is jerking him off again, hand rough and tacky with Stiles's own drying come. His hips jerk under Stiles, shoving him up into the down stroke of Scott's hand. Scott is gnawing on the back of his neck now, and Stiles doesn't know how he's going to hide it from his dad, but it's not like he even cares at this point.

He's still nodding to Scott's question – didn't even try to speak – when Scott's hand tightens around Stiles's dick again. He presses his fist down at the same time he pushes his hips up, and Scott is coming, covering Stiles's thighs. He's curled around Stiles, warm and slick at his back, and all he can see is Derek in front of him, and he's so close to coming again it hurts.

“Again,” Scott says on a gasp, wheezing like he used to. Stiles can't get enough air, chest compacted together and spine pulling with every breath. He comes again.

–

They bury Derek with Laura, because Derek deserves to be with his family. Dead and cold and together. It was probably a relief for Derek to die, to not be carting around survivors guilt from the fire, from Laura, from Peter. Scott digs the grave with his claws, sweating and dirty, and Stiles watches, petting his hand over Derek's hair, smoothing it away from his cold face like he's a precious thing.

When Scott lays Derek in the ground, somehow both parts of Laura are there, lain out like she wasn't cut in half. Her body settles into itself with rot.

Derek lays next to Laura, and for the first time, Stiles thinks he looks peaceful, even if he's imagining it.

He thinks about them being alone, together, for six years, and now they'll get to be together forever. Their bones will settle together and their flesh will decay and fertilize the same plants. Mix together and become one soil. He wonders if that's what mates are, or if that's pack. He wonders which Derek and Laura were or if it mattered.

They put the wolfsbane spiral back down, to cover their tracks, but also as an honor. Alpha, Beta, Omega. Who knows which is which in a world with no laws?

–

Scott comes to him at night, now, tracing spirals in his skin. The symbol for vengeance, a slice of the trifecta of Alpha, Beta, Omega. They're not missing a part, because Scott and Stiles are the Beta and Omega of death. The Bringer and the Escapist. Death will win eventually, holds everyone in it's thrall. Scott and Stiles are just there to facilitate the process.

“I want it,” Stiles says, Scott curving his fingers in Stiles's pants.

“What do you want?” Scott asks, because Stiles had said it out of the blue, and could mean a million different things.

Stiles does mean a million different things, but what he wants right now is “A spiral scar.”

Scott is tense and alert immediately. His fingers still in Stiles's pants – he's not even touching Stiles's dick yet, sex moves so slowly when there's no blood to smooth the way.

“Why?” Scott asks, which isn't the right question.

“I want to remember,” Stiles says, and it is everything. He wants to remember Derek and the way he'd felt then, but also right now, and how Scott feels with his legs tangled up in Stiles's and breathing the same air in Stiles's bedroom.

Stiles hopes he gets it, because he's not sure he could explain it without getting angry, even to Scott.

Scott though, just looks at Stiles thoughtfully for a second, probably sniffing him, the cheater, and then he asks the right question.

“Where?” and his voice is smiling in the dark and Stiles feels warm and sleepy content when he presses Scott's fingers onto the skin of his pelvis, crinkling in the hair there.

“Here,” he whispers and Scott is sliding their lips together like it means something more than flesh pressed together.

Stiles figures that people mistake love for sex all the time. Scott knows how Stiles is and loves him anyway. Maybe for someone else it wouldn't be enough, but it's enough for Scott that Stiles wants to keep him around.

“Okay,” Scott says into Stiles's mouth. “How do you want it?” And Stiles thinks about it because he'd kind of just wanted Scott to slice him open with his claws and let it scar over.

“Messy,” is what Stiles says, because he wants to touch it and remember. He doesn't want a clean thing, clinical and cold like his brain. He wants the warm gushing feel of Scott coming between his thighs, and blood smeared over his body.

Scott hums in response, and Stiles knows he gets it.

–

Stiles gets a weird text from Scott. It's February and Allison looks lonely without Scott, but won't admit it to herself. Scott doesn't want her back, “cum 2 m hse aftr schl,” which is weird, because Scott's not at school, and neither is Mr. Harris. Stiles sits through Chemistry with the substitute, and even though he doesn't teach Chemistry, Stiles still learns more in one class than Harris has deigned to teach him to date.

Stiles goes to Scott's house after school, as asked., and Scott is waiting on the porch for him.

“C'mon, let's go.” Scott says, opening the door. Scott is rushing away from his mom, who looks nervously through the curtains, but Stiles waves at her, and her ingrained trust of Stiles wins out.

Whatever lie Scott had told his mom to stay home must not have been that he was sick, because Melissa wouldn't have let him lie about that.

“Where to?” Stiles asks, when Scott is finally settled and his mom has moved away from the window. His left foot idles on the clutch, ready to throw it into reverse quickly if needs must.

“Go to the Hale house.” Scott says, and his voice is oddly warm, and he is fidgeting like Stiles on a bad day.

“Oh. Kay.” Stiles says, backing out of the McCall's driveway carefully. He heads south, away from town on the lonely highway. Scott is playing with the radio, and Stiles isn't slapping his hand away because Scott with excess energy is normally a Scott with claws. Stiles isn't into losing his hand. Especially while he's driving.

“Are you gonna tell me what's up?” When he settles on a CD from the floor of Stiles's jeep. Scott smiles, and shakes his head.

“Watch the road.” Scott says not unfondly, after a car passes going the other direction and Stiles almost doesn't see it.

“Alright, creeper.” Stiles says, watching the road instead of the curve of Scott's smile.

It's twenty minutes to what used to be the Hale house, and Stiles spends it bopping to the CD Scott found. When he turns into the winding drive, Scott turns the music down and turns to Stiles, serious.

“I have a present for you.” He says, almost ominous.

“Uh, okay? It's not my birthday, or anything. Which you know.” Stiles is ignoring Valentines day coming up. So much red, and none of it is blood. It makes him irrationally angry.

“I wanted to give you something,” Scott says, clumsy, like his words won't sync up with his feelings correctly.

Stiles is wondering what could possibly be for him, here, but Scott just sighs. “You'll see.” And gets out of the car.

Stiles follows him, unsure of what he's supposed to be doing. He hopes this isn't Scott quenching his blood lust with Stiles's blood.

He thinks that Scott is leading him into the house, but he's leading him around, behind and down into the basement. There are some inhabitable cells down there, Scott said,

He didn't say that they were basically torture chambers.

Mr. Harris is there, handcuffed to a wall. He's unconscious, but unhurt. Stiles looks at Scott in confusion.

“He's for you.” Scott says, eagerly. And then “Oh!” He rummages around in his bag for something. “I had these made for you,” and Stiles hears the clinking of metal when Scott pulls the package out.

Stiles opens it carefully, dropping to the floor and placing the packet on his knee to unwrap the tie.

The paper falls away, revealing two metal gauntlets. There's a vial wolfsbane with it, and a reservoir on the back of the hand. What look like veins trace each finger, ending at the tip of the claw. Stiles can see that if he were to drag the tip over skin, it would leave a trail of wolfsbane like ink. They must have cost a small fortune.

In short: they're gorgeous steel, and they fit Stiles's hands perfectly.

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathes, putting one on for the first time.

“I wanted you to have a set of claws too.” Scott says, sheepishly, “Ones that could do actual damage.” Stiles flexes his fingers, and the gauntlet moves almost naturally with his hand, joints gliding easily together over his hand.

“Scott,” Stiles chokes, because this doesn't feel like anything that Stiles has ever felt before. “They're perfect.”

Scott shuffles from foot to foot, like he's holding something back, and Stiles swoops in for a hug, to pull Scott close and breathe him in. “Thank you,” he whispers into Scott's ear. Scott shivers, and his hands stroke at the sides of Scott's hips. Stiles bumps their hips together, pressing his dick into Scott's hipbone. Scott's hard too, and it's no surprise.

“Well aren't you two just cute as a button.” Mr. Harris says, full of sarcasm.

Stiles turns to him, with the full force of his contempt. “Fuck you,” Stiles says, stepping away from Scott. He picks up the gloves, and clicks the belts into place so that they won't come off while he's playing.

Stiles looks at Scott, not asking the question out loud, and Scott nods slightly. “I turned him,” Scott says, sheepish and proud at the same time.

“Did you?” Stiles asks, impressed.

“Yep.” Scott smirks, confident again. “He's all yours.”

Stiles smiles wide and real and just a little off center.

“Oh, goodie.” Stiles giggles. Harris looks torn between disgust and fear. Stiles revels in it, because this is where he lives. He kneels in front of Harris and lifts his chin with the tip of his claw.

“Adrian, may I call you Adrian?” Stiles asks, and then immediately continues, “Do you know that the human body has about 12 pints of blood in it? You only have to lose 4 or 5 to die.” He drags the claw on the thumb down through Harris's lip, cutting and poisoning his system at once. “Let's see how many you can lose.”

Harris makes a choking sound, around the blood in his mouth. Stiles doesn't let him speak, not yet.

Scott moans in the background, and Stiles looks back at him. Scott has his dick in his hand, not thrusting into it, but holding it. Like Scott needed to physically stop himself from coming.

“You like that?” Stiles asks, and Scott moans while Harris says “No.”

Stiles digs his claws deeper into Harris's jaw. “I wasn't talking to you, Adrian. Do you feel the wolfsbane yet? Does it burn? Are you going to beg me not to hurt you?”

Harris looks at Stiles, defiant. “It doesn't matter,” Stiles says, “there's nothing you can do to save yourself.” Harris's eyes flick from Stiles, crouched down, claws covered in blood, to Scott, fisting his dick to the picture in front of him.

He whimpers, and Stiles knows he's won. Harris has figured out that there's no way this conversation ends with anything less than Harris's blood everywhere.

“Good boy, Adrian.” Stiles says, “Now you wait here, while Daddy and Mommy play for a bit, okay?”

Stiles’s knees creak as he stands up, and he shakes out the stiffness as he makes the two steps towards Scott. He brushes the underside of Scott’s jaw with the tops of his fingers, still covered in metal. Scott hisses, but doesn’t pull away.

“‘S cold,” he says, and Stiles wraps one hand around the back of Scott’s neck and the other around his dick. He’s careful not to let the claws touch or dig in, because he’s not sure how potent the wolfsbane is. He has plans to grow and distill his own for varying degrees of potency.

“Scott,” Stiles whispers, right up in his face. His eyes dart down to Stiles's mouth and Scott licks his lower lip.

“Such a good boy,” Stiles says, lips so close to kissing Scott, that he's breathing in Scott's mouth.

Scott whimpers, and Stiles kisses him then, biting and swift, before he turns back to his prey.

–

“He's still alive,” Scott says into the meat of Stiles's shoulder. He scrapes his wolf teeth there, and Stiles thinks about turning into a wolf, how much fun it would be, but also how disappointing.

He likes being underestimated.

“I know,” Stiles is smiling, almost reverent. Harris is alive, bordering on consciousness, and Scott can barely control himself well enough to finger Stiles open. He's fucking back on Scott's fingers, three of them, curling inside him, deeper than his own can go. Scott moves his fingers and Stiles thinks this shouldn't feel good, shouldn't be this good.

“C'mon,” Stiles breathes, riding Scott's fingers so deep that Stiles can feel the knuckle of Scott's pinky threatening to press in. Stiles tries to press it in, too, but Scott pulls his hand away. “No, c'mon, fuck me.” Stiles whines.

Scott chuckles into the back of his neck, pressing a kiss on a fading bruise there. “I'm trying.” He swipes his hand through Harris's blood on Stiles's thighs, and smears it across Stiles's mouth. “Dirty,” he says, and Stiles moans.

“Do it,” Stiles says, begging with the lines of his body, arching up for Scott. “I want him to watch,” Stiles moans, as Scott presses in. It burns, a sweet low ache that Stiles craves. Scott presses in slow, forcing Stiles to feel every inch of him, every stretch. Stiles lets him have it, because he loves this. “Been wanting you to fuck me since we got here,” Stiles gasps, fingertips digging into the floor for purchase he doesn't have.

“Mmm” Scott says, “Could smell it on you.” He says, licking away the sweat pooling in the dips of Stiles's spine. That meant that Harris could too.

“Then do it,” he commands, tilting his hips back into Scott, demanding. “Fuck me.”

–

Adrian Harris is found dead in his home with no cuts and bruises and no signs of a forced entry. His death is ruled an accident by the police when the autopsy reports indicate that he cause of death was an allergic reaction. Stiles doesn't even have to lie to his father, because it was absolutely an allergic reaction that killed him.

Not that Stiles was there, or involved in any way. He's just an interested party, asking his local gossip mill.

–

Stiles and Scott graduate the same year, because Stiles and Scott study together. Stiles actually helps Scott study, finding out when is the best time for Studying (in the early morning before School) and what helps Scott learn the most (not being distracted by constant life-or-death situations).

He even gets an A in English.

Sheriff Stilinski hugs Stiles in every photo, smiles the widest, happiest smile, even though his eyes are sad.

“I wish your mom could have seen you,” he says, hands on Stiles's shoulders. He pulls him in close again, “She'd be so proud of you.” Stiles hugs his dad back tightly. It's not often that his dad cries, and Stiles doesn't know what to do or say.

“Thanks,” he says, and realizes he means it, not just for being there, but for everything. For being probably the best dad that Stiles could have asked for.

“No,” the Sheriff sniffles, “thank you.” He turns to Scott, who is hovering off to the side, getting jostled by people trying to leave the gymnasium, trying to take photos and exchange phone numbers and open presents all at one time. Their gowns are maroon, which is kind of hideous, and they're scratchy and hot, but Stiles hasn't taken his off yet.

Scott goes to hug him, and Stiles squeezes back. Stiles's dad and Scott's mom stand together and look so proud that their faces shine with it.

“You did it, buddy” Stiles says, halfway mocking.

“Oh, yeah like there was any doubt of my success with your help.” Scott makes a scrunched up face, like he doesn't like to admit that he needed help, but knows that he has to.

“Who wouldn't want to help such a cute face?” Stiles says, pinching Scott's cheek. Their parents laugh at their antics, but Scott got into the local version of Vet School – veterinary assistant, here Scott comes, and Stiles is going to take classes online so he doesn't have to leave his dad.

And Scott, but his dad doesn't know that yet.

Stiles's stomach rumbles, and Scott says “Food?” eagerly, like he hasn't eaten yet.

Stiles knows for a fact that he packed him some beef jerky before the ceremony, Scott is just a pig.

Melissa looks at the Sheriff, and they both say “The Royce?” at the same time.

Scott and Stiles nod along, it won't be too crowded, because it's really a dive, but it's the best greasy diner food around.

Scott looks at his Stiles. “Meet you there? I need to change,” and they decide to be there in half an hour.

His dad waits until they're in the Jeep before he talks.

“So, you and Scott huh?”

“Me and Scott what,” Scott asks, because that's kind of a weird lead-in and there's not any context for it.

“You can't lie to me, son. You're dating Scott.” Stiles chokes out a laugh, because he can lie to his father, he has been lying to his father for the last four years.

“I guess I am,” he says, not knowing how to respond. It's not everyday that your dad asks you if you're dating your best friend, when you actually are dating your best friend. Especially when dating your best friend includes killing people and spreading blood all over each other.

His dad makes an approving noise. “He's good for you,” and Stiles almost chokes on air again.

“I think so,” he says, because he does, even though his dad might think differently if he knew the kinds of things they get up to.

“You're being safe?” He asks, as Stiles pulls into their driveway.

Stiles makes a face, because what kind of fun is safe? But also because yeah they kind of are.

“Yeah.”

“Good, good.” He nods to himself, and opens the door to the Jeep. “Get in the house and take that thing off before you make us late,” his dad says, loudly.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm coming.”

–

Their house only has one bed, so they know they're not fooling anyone. Allison and Lydia come over and help them paint, and their bedroom is red. Their landlord is really cool about it, and for that, Stiles is thankful.

His house makes him taste copper at the back of his throat, and he thinks he's the happiest he's ever been.

Stiles finally has time for his scar, and Scott ties him spread eagle on the bed to do it. Scott shaved his pubic hair for this, and Stiles's skin feels smooth and itchy at the same time. Scott traces the permanent marker whirl on Stiles's pelvis with light fingertips, and Stiles bucks his hips up as far as he can.

It isn't far.

“Come on,” Stiles demands, “Do it.”

Scott's claws grow, and they scratch at Stiles's skin, leaving white marks where ever they touch. Stiles wants Scott to touch him everywhere.

“Hold still,” Scott says, holding Stiles's hips down with one hand, and Stiles couldn't move if he wanted to.

Scott digs his claw into Stiles's flesh, slicing open the shape of the spiral with his index finger. It hurts, but that's just the first thing. The second thing is Stiles's blood, welling up around Scott's fingers and Scott wiping it away gently, and sucking on his fingers.

He licks Stiles's skin next, right up against the edges of the wound, and Stiles thinks of dogs. How they lick their wounds to clean them, to help them heal. Maybe werewolves aren't much different.

“I have another surprise for you,” Scott says, blood smeared on his chin. Stiles looks down, and his bleeding has slowed, the platelets banding together to form a scab already.

Or maybe that's just Scott's spit.

“What?” Stiles gasps. He feels split open and raw. He's not sure he could take Scott fucking him right now, but he wouldn't say no.

Scott runs his mouth up the side of Stiles's cock, and then drools down the shaft. It's not the most attractive thing that Scott has ever done, but Stiles isn't exactly complaining here, because it's still unfairly hot.

“That's your present,” Stiles deadpans, trying to get a rise out of Scott. “Drooling on my dick? You do that every day.”

“No,” Scott says, smug and bright, holding Stiles down with a hand on his stomach, thumbnail just brushing the edge of the spiral. Scott straddles Stiles, holding Stiles's dick in place, and yeah, this better than what Stiles thought it was going to be.

“You can't just--” Stiles starts, because lube! And stretching! But Scott, has, apparently prepared for this, if the way that Stiles slides easily into Scott is any indication. Scott grunts a little, but his face isn't twisted up with pain.

“I did,” Scott says, settling over Stiles. Scott's balls rest right over the forming scabs, warm and scratchy.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, because this is a thing they haven't done, not once, not ever. It's not even something they talked about. It hasn't been a problem. Stiles loves to be fucked, loves Scott fucking him, and Scott loves fucking Stiles. It's win-win.

But this, this is good too. Scott is hot and slick and sweet above him, fucking himself down on Stiles's dick. Stiles can't even push his hips up into Scott, because he's being held down. One of his scabs break open, and Scott moans loudly.

It's good, and Stiles likes it, but, “Scott, c'mon.” Scott ignores him and fucks himself harder.

“Fuck,” he says, and jerks himself down on Stiles cock again before he comes, over his hand, holding Stiles still and lets his come slide down his balls onto the spiral.

“Scott,” Stiles whines, because this is totally unfair.

Scott laughs at him, a little, and lays out between Stiles's legs. For a moment, Stiles thinks that Scott is going to suck his dick again, but he's proven wrong when Scott moves to mouth at his come and the broken open skin. His tongue is rough, but gentle, and he makes a hurt noise, like Stiles's blood is the best thing he's ever tasted.

Just the thought of it, Scott biting him and devouring him whole, drinking him up and leaving nothing but an empty husk behind makes Stiles come harder than he expected.

–

Scott can look at people with out fantasizing about their blood on his hands. It doesn't distract him, now that he knows what it's like to actually have blood on his hands (gallons and gallons of it, spreading, smearing it on his face, on Stiles, fucking Stiles with his face mashed in an expanding pool of blood from a cooling body, fresh in death). He can focus on his work, Dr. Deaton doesn't know there's anything strange going on with Scott's brain, and he's in pre-vet courses at school.

Living with Stiles is awesome, too, because Stiles knows how to cook, and isn't an asshole about laundry like his mom had been.

He also gets free access to Stiles, which is probably the best thing for him that could happen.

Stiles tracks details, makes lists, maps, and post-it notes filled with ideas that Scott has had, or Stiles has seen in a movie or came up with in the shower one day. Scott thinks that Stiles has been collecting them for his entire life.

Stiles is perfect.

But, when Stiles comes home and Scott pushes him against the door to nose at his scar, Stiles smells strange. He smells like blood and more like wolf than he normally does.

Strange wolf.

Scott is pushing Stiles's pants off and apart, trying to get at his dick to see if anyone else has touched him. Scott is so angry, his vision is going red, and blurring out and his claws dig into Stiles's pants and rip them.

Scott thinks that Stiles should be scared, but Stiles just laughs. It's never bothered Scott before that Stiles doesn't feel like normal people do, but right now, he wishes he knew what went on in Stiles's head so he could know for sure. So there wouldn't be any doubt. It's not enough that Stiles came out to everyone, that they live together in mostly domestic bliss. Scott needs to know if Stiles is going to find someone better and leave Scott alone. Leave Scott in a pool of his own blood like Derek. Bury his bones and leave him a missing person.

But Stiles smells only of himself, pheromones sunk deep into his skin, like he'd been hard and kept his pants on, and his erection had gone away.

“Stiles?” He asks, almost desperately. Because things aren't adding up. There's a missing piece, and Scott isn't seeing it.

“Scott.” Stiles says with finality, and it's not enough, but it's enough for now.

–

Stiles leaves work, and instead of heading straight home, he turns left and heads towards the woods. Scott follows him, and sooner rather than later, Scott realizes that they're on what used to be the Hale property. Stiles parks his jeep, whistling cheerfully as he packs a bag that Scott sees in his jeep to a padlocked door.

He unlocks it, and bustles in, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone is following him. Scott chuffs at the irony. Stiles leaves the door open, which seems a little weird, but if he needs a quick getaway, he doesn't want to have to deal with a door that swings in. Stiles has obviously thought this out.

Scott sneaks in, and he smells the other wolf and the blood, but also the smells of someone who's been living in their own filth for weeks.

“How was your day?” Stiles asks the other wolf, and Scott hears the splash of water, rattling of chains, a grunt. What is going on here.

Scott sneaks in, and hears the wolf laugh.

“What?” Stiles asks, sweetly.

“Your wolf is here,” he says, “what's he gonna say, do you think?” The wolf is trying to mock Stiles, and Scott hears Stiles chuckle.

“Scotty,” Stiles calls cheerfully, “Come on out now. I know you were following me.”

Scott follows the hallway to see what is obviously an omega chained up and helpless. Scott kisses the back of Stiles's neck, grinding his dick onto Stiles's ass, and Stiles chuckles as he presses his hips back, mouth open and wet.

“Scott,” Stiles moans, and Scott stops sucking on Stiles's neck for long enough to laugh at him.

“Why were you keeping him from me,” Scott asks, half accusation, half praise.

“Mmm, I was getting him ready for you.” Stiles says, “I wanted him dirty and sweaty and scared before you came.”

“You wanted him for yourself.” Scott accuses, still insecure about Stiles leaving him.

“I wanted you to spread me open and fuck me before you slit his throat.” Stiles sounds defensive, and Scott can't really tell when he's lying, but Stiles has, up to this point, not let him down.

“Really?” He asks, biting the bone of Stiles's shoulder through his shirt.

“God yes,” Stiles moans. If Scott didn't know him so well, he'd think he was lying, but Stiles starts pulling his pants down, and unbuttoning Scott's.

“Fuck me,” he pants into Scott's mouth.

“Yeah,” Scott says, because he can't think of anything else.

–

The omega's blood is beautiful, spread out on concrete and chains.

They fuck again, Stiles's back up against the wall, blood in his mouth and on his chin from Scott's teeth.

“Fuck,” Stiles says, scraping his head on the wall behind him.

Scott puts his hand behind Stiles's head, sweet like they never are, and bites at Stiles's jaw.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Stiles says, hiccuping for breath. His legs are locked around Scott's waist, and his ass is loose and wet from being fucked earlier. He sounds fucked out and amazing.

“What?” Scott asks, almost absentmindedly.

“I can hear your heart beating,” Stiles answers, “From the blood. It,” he gasps, Scott's dick jerking in him, “it makes everything brighter.” He finishes. Stiles's eyes flash blue once and Stiles comes.

“Shit,” Scott says, Stiles clenching around his dick, and comes again.

–

Stiles finds another one, another omega. They're supposed to be rare, but not so rare that they don't happen. They don't live long.

Stiles and Scott don't improve their chances.

They come to Stiles because he's non-threatening. He has a sweet face, and gentle hands. Skinny limbs. Layered clothing like armor against a cruel world. He has trustworthy eyes and a full mouth and they think that he's not a threat because he's not a wolf.

Scott brings this one in, the first, and Stiles cowers in a corner the whole time. His heartbeat is fast, and if you didn't know him better, you'd think it was from fear.

The omega doesn't know.

Scott moves towards the omega, tipping his chin up, and looking into his golden eyes.

“Do you want an alpha?” Scott asks, “Do you want a new pack?”

He's eager when he nods his head. Scott lets his claws grow, and grabs the omega's chin.

“Use your words,” he orders. “You want to be part of a _pack_ do you?” Scott sneers. The omega snivels out an affirmative. Scott pushes the omega's head to the side. His opinion doesn't matter. It's Scott's decision and they both know it.

“You'll have to do something to prove your loyalty.” The omega looks up, and starts nodding, eager to please.

'Moral insanity' he thinks, smiling, relishing the way the omega whimpers under his fingers. He's so ripe for it, wanting to belong again, like he had before. All they'd had to do was imply that they'd wanted to expand their pack They weren't even lying. They'd wanted to expand the pack of dead. Got him here, sweetened the deal with the promise of safety, and then revealed that the net was the shadow of a noose.

“I'd do anything, Alpha,” it says, and Scott laughs in his face.

“Would you fuck that whimpering thing over there?” Scott asks, derision clear in his tone.

“What?” the omega asks, hope and confusion mixing. It's heady, the way the omega thinks it's actually that easy.

“Fuck the human,” Scott says, an order this time, and the omega is hard. Scott can smell it, and Stiles can smell it too, because he'd bitten Scott, hard before they came. He'd wanted to be all primed up for this.

“Okay, yes,” the omega is saying, fumbling with his pants. They're dirty, and the omega doesn't smell particularly pleasant, but it won't matter soon.

Scott snaps his fingers, and Stiles crawls over, quick as he can. Scott snaps again, and Stiles is out of his pants, cowering in front of the omega on his hands and knees, offering his mouth. The omega takes it eagerly, shoving his cock down Stiles's throat, and Stiles drools on him as much as he can.

“Enough,” Scott says, to the omega, but Stiles pulls away so as to not shatter the illusion just yet. Stiles turns around, offering his ass, already stretched out and held open by a plug, and the omega whimpers. Stiles rolls his eyes where only Scott can see, and pulls the plug out himself.

“Do it,” Scott orders, and the omega pushes into Stiles.

Scott watches Stiles's face as he gets fucked, and he hopes that Stiles doesn't make these faces when he's the one. In fact, no. He knows Stiles doesn't make these faces. Stiles is barely tolerating this guy fucking him, and when Scott moves forward, Stiles whimpers.

“Is he good,” Scott asks Stiles, wickedly.

Stiles smirks. “Mmm. So good,” Stiles replies, mock serious. The omega can't tell he's joking, and Scott knew it first.

Scott scrapes his claws along Stiles's jawline, pricking in the bottom and forcing his head to tilt up.

“Touch him,” Scott says to the omega. “Right above his dick.”

The omega runs his hands there, and flinches when he feels the spiral scar. “What,” the omega asks, shocked.

“What do we say to the god of death?” Scott quotes to Stiles.

“Not today,” Stiles answers.

Scott slits the omega's throat and he falls forward, drenching Stiles in blood.

–

“You're perfect,” Scott says into the back of Stiles's neck, licking at the omega's crusting blood, later.

Stiles chuckles, a breathless thing, and fucks himself back on Scott's cock, moaning. “I'm not." he tries to say.

“You are.” Scott says, brushing this fingers across the scar on his pelvis. “You're perfect to me.” He bites Stiles's shoulder, careful, careful, and Stiles moans again. It's danger and pain and pleasure. It's Stiles making spaghetti and Scott leaving his underwear on the floor. It's unexpected visits from the Sheriff and seducing omegas to their deaths.

–

Scott's fingers are in his mouth again, hooking in and keeping him open, panting. Stiles is drooling all over them, but he loves it. He licks at the blood on Scott's fingers, swallowing, and he swears he can feel his teeth, the sharp points of them pressing into Scott's skin. He can hear the slick sounds of Scott fucking into him, the slowing heartbeats of the omega, the half grunt, half breathy whine in the back of his throat when Scott's claws dig into his thigh.

The world is brighter, dirtier. It smells better and worse. Scott’s sweat mixed with dirt and blood and come. His nails dig into the concrete, and they leave marks. He strokes them with the pads of his fingers, longingly. He doesn't want to be a werewolf, but this might be just as good, better.

There’s an eagerness in Scott that Stiles can excuse as anticipation for the moon, waiting for the her to drive their mutual bloodlust to its maximum. Stiles can’t wait. The tease for tonight is just an appetizer for the meal that they’ll be sharing soon. The blood being spread across Stiles’ tongue now belongs to Scott, and Stiles moans, shivering as he sucks Scott’s fingers clean, and as his swallowing throat bobs under the press of Scott’s teeth.

He wishes sometimes, he could feel like this all the time — caught up and swept away, consumed by the dizzy feeling of being entirely connected to his environment and to Scott.

“What have you done to me?” Stiles asks, all vowels.

“Nothing that wasn't already true,” and Stiles lets the pull of the moon take him.


End file.
